


arms length

by printician



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: But it's gay, First Kiss, First Meetings, I Love My Son Matt and He Loves Connor OKAY, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, and it might not have a plot, and what else can a man ask for in this horrible world, i have no idea how to tag this, i just really have a lot of feelings about this kid, i love him and i want him to be happy, it might not be good, just let me give him something nice ok, listen, positive LAX bro representation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printician/pseuds/printician
Summary: He wasn’t sure who leaned first, or maybe they both made the same stupid-great decision at the same time. It didn’t matter, because all that mattered was a soft mouth that met his so effortlessly, and the finger that had hooked itself in his belt loop, pulling him closer.And God, he was so fucking tired of being held at arm's length.





	arms length

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Kirani's beautiful fic "It's Okay", which can be found at https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099303
> 
> listen. i have a lot of feelings about whiskey and his red headed love interest. let me live. Also, if an update makes all of this information painfully un-canon, i'm not going to delete this? i'll just put an edit up in this part and be like: this came out right after 4.9, please read it even though it's complete malarky.

It took him ages to speak above a whisper.

To go from silent to mousy to quiet, Connor had to learn how to breathe. Remember he didn’t have to look over his shoulder, worry about his Mama coming in with a basket of laundry to see her boy stretched out on a full mattress that definitely isn’t his own. Or see his hands fitting into Matt’s like they belonged there.

And he was still so, so far from shouting.

\-----

Their first meeting wasn’t what most would call ‘romantic’. They didn’t reach for the same book in the library. No cute barista drawing a heart on his black coffee at Annie’s. Connor was sweaty, tired, and not really in the mood to be wooed.

“Hey, aren’t we supposed to be enemies?” The distinctive voice of an athletic white boy came from directly behind him, and Connor was half tempted to not even turn around. Another thorn in his side after the ‘taddy tour’ yesterday wasn’t appealing. After racking the weights he’d just finished with, he pivoted his head just enough to look behind him, breathing heavily through his nose. Sure enough, the whitest white boy he’d ever seen was beaming at him from underneath a pair of pushed-back Ray Bans, hands tucked into his Nike shorts.

Connor had to take a beat to avoid laughing in his face. Instead, he just continued to scowl, maybe a little bit more confused now that he was finally able to interpret what this idiot had just said to him.

“You’re on the hockey team, right? I saw your tour on the porch yesterday. Nice to see they’re still getting some fresh meat without Zimmermann.” Continued White Boy, who stuck out his hand and quirked his mouth up in a smile that shouldn’t have been charming. “Chadwick Matthew Pierce. Lacrosse team. But for everyone’s sake, I usually go by Matt.” When Connor continued to stare, the White Boy, Matt, just laughed, tutting slightly.

“Already turned to the dark side, I see. I promise we’re not actually that bad.” And then, like he couldn’t take a single hint, Matt leaned in close, looking both ways with a shit eating smirk before ghosting his breath against Connor’s ear and saying, “Between you and me, I think you guys are just jealous we throw better ragers.”

And for some reason, he was frozen. Connor refused to believe that anyone with Airpods could make his heart race with physical proximity, but there it was. Racing.

Not even bothering to delve into the far, far more concerning aspect of his inconvenient attraction to Matt that wasn’t his horrible fashion choices.

“Well, see you on the flip side, frosh. Maybe stop by the lax house sometime. I’ll show you how to actually do a deadlift.” Matt winked, threw a ‘later!’ over his shoulder, and was gone. Leaving Connor to do all the legwork in figuring out what the fuck just happened to him.

\-----

Matt isn’t even the one to pull him into the lax house. Connor just happens to have 8am Physics 321 with Chad G, and they slowly bond over mutual hatred for Cartesian coordinates. Even then, it wouldn’t have been hard to get him into a SMH-free zone. Anywhere he didn’t have the ever-watchful and condescendingly worried eyes of the SMH’s resident mother hen bearing down on him was a welcome respite. He had nothing against Bittle, just… he preferred not being baby monitored. It felt too familiar.

The first time Chad G invited him over to play COD and drink PBR, Connor hadn’t entirely forgotten about the encounter at the gym. He didn’t _want_ to think about it. Fuck it all, he _really didn’t want to think about it_ . But when Chad threw open the front door in the middle of his rant about how shitty the new Fast and the Furious movie was, Connor couldn’t _not_ see him.

Matt was posted in an armchair, flipping through the newspaper like he’s ninety-seven years old. The finest goddamned ninety-seven year old on the planet, pale pink tee pulling just right across his shoulders. Fuck. When he crossed the threshold, though, Connor could see he was only reading the Funnies.

He was about to stop staring and swallow all the spit that had collected in his mouth when a pair of deep brown eyes flitted up to his, catching him in his tracks. Then, just for a moment, Matt’s mouth opened, just visible above the brim of the Sunday Comics, but he just grinned. Winked. Went back to his newspaper.

“Hey Connor, do me a favor and slip those shoesies right off. Kind of a strict rule, breh. Learned that the hard way.” Chad interrupted, the slew of increasingly uncomfortable thoughts screeching to a halt as Connor returned to reality, kicking off his sneakers and forcing his eyes not to stray.

\-----

Their first kiss is anything but clumsy.

Connor won’t pretend he isn’t liquored up. He’s been pregaming since seven, and the worried texts he’s getting from Tango say it’s later than he should be out with a roadie tomorrow. Three very bad rounds of beer pong later, and he’s kicked out of the game, sentenced to nursing a jack and coke from the couch.

At this ‘team kickback’, which included the lax team and thirty of their closest friends, he’s more loose than he has been in months. He wasn’t drunk-smiling yet, but he sank lower on the couch, watching the party around him. Not looking for anyone, of course. Just… looking. When six passes of the room were unsuccessful, he found his cup was empty.

The kitchen was blissfully uninhabited, giving him the peace and quiet necessary to pour an incredibly stiff drink. When he finished dumping three shots into about a tablespoon of Sprite, there was a familiarly dangerous voice from behind him.

“Now here’s a man that can hold his liquor.”

Connor immediately turned on his heel, pressing back against the counter, ready to either fight or throw his drink as an escape tactic, when he realized just how little he wants to do either.  
“That’s me,” was all he can think to say. Stupid line, not clever. Not that he’s clever anyways. Fuck, this is way out of his depth.  
  
Matt must be drunk too, because he laughed at that for some reason and _fuck. Shit fuck_. Connor wants to live in that sound. Connor’s… crush has only gotten worse over the last few months, much to his chagrin. He doesn’t want it to be a crush, but he’s done the self-denial shit for long enough. Honesty is the best policy, in these situations. And it would be stupid to think having weekly wet dreams about the drunk idiot in front of him was just ‘bros being bros’. God, he was so fucked.

“Pour me one of what you’re having. You have the right idea and I’m not nearly drunk enough.” Matt said, though he thoroughly contradicted himself with how much difficulty he had in fishing a bag of tortilla chips out of the cabinet. For whatever reason, though, Connor poured him a drink. And, for good measure, dumped a fourth shot in.

“To help you along.” He smirked, dangerously, leaning farther into Matt’s personal bubble than he ever would if he were sober. The blue solo cup passed between their two suddenly thick-fingered hands, the easy brushing of skin was so much and not enough and Connor could feel the back of his neck start to burn. Matt held his gaze, stupid mouth still slightly open. Big brown eyes half-lidded and sharp, despite the red booze-flush on his pale cheekbones.

He wasn’t sure who leaned first, or maybe they both made the same stupid-great decision at the same time. It didn’t matter, because all that mattered was a soft mouth that met his so effortlessly, and the finger that had hooked itself in his belt loop, pulling him closer.

And God, he was so fucking tired of being held at arm's length.

\-----

Even if after that he and Matt spent the next fifteen minutes monopolizing the downstairs bathroom, looking in the mirror got difficult. Focusing in class was a no-go. Murray was even getting worried about his puck handling.

But by _far,_ calling home was the worst.  
  
“Hey, Mama.”  
  
“It’s been two weeks, Connor. What have you been up to that’s so important? A mother worries, you know!”

“I know, Mama-”

“I hope you’re keeping your grades up. And working hard in hockey. You need to focus, keep your head out of the clouds.”  
  
“Yes, Mama.”  
  
“Have you met any girls? Gracie still asks about you all the time, you know…”  
  
“...No, Mama. No girlfriends.”  
  
\-----

Still though, he learns.

Connor learns that Matt likes his coffee as white as he is, but he prefers his liquor neat. His favorite color is pink, but he wears more green because of his hair. He’s from bumfuck Indiana, but his parents call him twice a week and have a rainbow flag on their front porch. He prefers cats over dogs and hates comic book movies.

Most of all, he’s patient.

“Fuck. Sorry. I’m just-” Connor is spluttering, staring at the ground three paces away from Matt’s mattress, where a very concerned ginger was still sitting. “I should just-- I should go. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, what’s this about?” Matt said in such a slow, gentle voice that entirely too suddenly, Connor was holding back tears. Which was even worse.

The whole lax house was empty. It was just them, and two seconds ago, Connor had convinced himself he was okay with being folded against Matt’s side while they watched The Office, chin resting against a toned shoulder with a pale arm thrown around his waist, but then he was getting kissed. Kissed, for the first time since that beautiful, hiccuping night so many weeks ago. But it was so, so different now. No alcohol buffer. No slippery states of consciousness he could excuse himself around. Kissed, on the mouth. By a man. And he _liked it_.

Which, of course, meant he had to throw up the old and faithful brick wall of emotional distance.

“No, I’m fine, I just-- fuck, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

He wanted to run. Where to, he had no clue. He still wasn’t out to anyone on the hockey team, and he had fuck all for friends other than the lax bros. And Matt, who was technically in the lax bro category, but not really. He was something else entirely, something that defied everything Connor wanted to be sure about.

“If you really do, I won’t stop you, but we can just chill. I’m… I’m sorry for moving too fast. Totally my bad.” There was a kind, open smile being pointed at him, and all Connor could do was collapse. He fell into already opening arms and buried his face against Matt’s Old Spice scented neck.

Matt chuckled, but not in a malicious way. He just wrapped his arms around Connor and sat them down on the side of the bed, cool as can fucking be.  
  
“You’re a dick.” Connor muttered, matter-of-factly, from the crook of Matt’s shoulder.  
  
“I’m a dick?” He repeated with a snort, stroking firm circles between Connor’s shoulder blades.

“You’re too nice. It’s inconvenient.”  
  
Matt laughed again, but didn’t reply. He just hummed and let the trembling in Connor’s hands come to a stop.

“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“No.”

A few moments, his hand squeezing Matt’s pale knee, more to keep him anchored than anything else.

“But I should.” Connor sighed, peeling himself out of Matt’s grasp and staring down at the pinstriped sheets. “I’m new to this. And you-- you don’t deserve to have to deal with someone like me who--”  
“Hey. Stop.” Matt was never harsh, as a rule, but his voice had now taken on a quality of sternness. “Listen. I’m not ‘dealing’ with anyone. You really think I’d try this fucking hard with someone if I didn’t know what I was getting into?”

It was a rhetorical question, obviously, but some part of it was still biting. Because, did he know? Did this sunflower of a human being now what kind of fucked up, repressed--

“You’re doing it again.” It almost felt like a slap, despite the incredibly gentle tone. Connor looked up from the sheets, brow slightly furrowed.

“Doing what?”

“Overthinking. Worrying. Whatever you want to call it. It’s not productive.” Matt’s hand slowly threaded his fingers through the hand on his knee. “I know you, at least I think I do. And if you’ll let me, I’d really like to know some more about the quiet, mysterious, smoking fuckin’ hot Connor Whisk.”

And so, Matt learns.

\-----

It was, shockingly, never something that needed explaining in the lax house. He went to games, sometimes. Got to throw his arm around Matt’s shoulder whenever he liked. Lean in too close and get just a little more lovey than he ever would around his own team.

First, slowly, barely, letting Matt kiss him in front of Chad G. Then Chads A-Z. At kickbacks. House parties. Once, memorably, outside his own dorm, far from the safe bubble of the lax house, right out there in the open. Then asking for them, in his own silent and nervous way.  Biting his lip and looking up through his lashes. Leaning in just close enough to press his forehead against a ginger temple. Looping an arm up and around the small of Matt’s back.

And once he’d gotten that far, giving them back was shockingly easy.

Apparently the Samwell ‘one in four, maybe more’ rule managed to stomp out a little bit of the bigotry. Or maybe the Chads were too busy getting ‘sick nasty’ that they didn’t have time to stick their noses where they didn’t belong.

\-----

It got harder over the summer. Indiana is a long, long ways from Arizona, and Connor was understandably apprehensive about having visitors. They talked, though. Usually over snapchat, since Matt was constantly complaining about how little he got to see Connor’s “absolutely radiant mug”. Phone calls were nice too. Skype. Whatever they could get, really.

But, time zones were still a thing. And Matt liked sleeping more than anyone Connor had ever met, so keeping him up until 4am EST every night started to feel cruel. Even if nothing made his heart clench in his chest so _right_ like looking at sleepy Matt through a computer screen, blanket pulled up around his shoulders with his red hair in a mess. Droopy eyed. _Cute_.

“Fuck me, you’re so old. I can’t believe I’m able to Skype with the cryptkeeper. Sure you don’t need any help figuring out Twitter, Gramps?”  
  
“Shut up, you fucking toddler. I can’t believe you’re allowed to stay up this late. It’s way past your bedtime”  
  
“Cradle robber.”  
  
“Sugar baby.”

Connor has to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from snorting so loud he wakes up everyone else in the house. From the screen of his laptop, he can see Matt doing the same, biting his fist and looking into the webcam with crinkled eyes. It’s so easy like this. Chirping the shit out of each other until someone laughed was one of his favorite ways to spend time with Matt. He’d say it was better than sex, if he was feeling particularly romantic.

“Senior year. Pretty important time in one’s life, Chadwick Matthew.”  
“I don’t want to think about it. I’m just trying to chill and not die when summer workouts start in a few weeks. I’m out of shape.”  
“Mm, I don’t know that I believe you. Ab inspection?”

Matt laughed again, the delighted giggle that always escaped him when Connor worked up the nerve to flirt with him. The blue glow of the computer screen lit up his face just enough to show off the ruddy flush gracing his ears, and Connor was knocked flat on his ass.  
“Maybe when you come visit me, kid. We can thoroughly examine each other’s fitness.”

Connor’s turn to blush now, his throat catching as he tried to laugh it off. A moment of panic as he worried someone would hear, even with his headphones screwed into his ears and the volume as low as he could bear. He hated it. He wanted to bask in the warm light of mutual goddamn attraction, but the fear was still settled on his ribs like rust. Like asbestos in an old house. Rotten.

It had been better, for a while. After the first, well technically second, time they were pressed as close as two people could be, and heard his own name on the breath of this beautiful creature, this beautiful _man_ , he wondered how anything could be so perfect. Lying in the wet spot with Matt’s face plastered to his chest, his lashes looking impossibly long and his face as flushed as his hair was red, Connor didn’t think he’d ever know evil again. If he could do this, forever, he couldn’t imagine giving a shit about his grandfather’s Christmas rants or his mother’s disgusted looks.

But then he was back home and his twelve year old brother called someone a fag over Xbox live. His mother shook her head at the news and spoke hushed rosaries for the ‘deviants’ who moved in down street. Matt is far, far away, and there was no one there to hold on to.

“Hey, earth to Connor. Do me a favor and head back to the ground for a sec.”  
Connor shook himself, blinking a few times and re-focusing his eyes on the screen in front of him.

“Right. Sorry. I just--”

“Let your thoughts run away. I know.” It wasn’t mean. Truly. Matt apparently really had known what he was getting into. Connor cleared his throat, pushed in his earbuds a little deeper, and settled back against his bed cushions. He would be present. Not take a single moment of this for granted.

“Hey, have you seen Baby Driver?”

\-----

It wasn’t Connor’s idea to spend their first day back on campus together slow dancing to “Reunited” in Matt’s room, but he got to lead so he didn’t have any complaints.

“This is the gayest shit I’ve ever done in my life.” He muttered, readjusting his hand on Matt’s waist as Herb Fame whined through a Bluetooth speaker on the bedside table. Matt just hummed, tucking his head into Connor’s shoulder and swaying them slightly. It was the only night they’d have together for a while, and apparently Matt wasn’t going to waste any time.

Bittle was in full captain mode by now, and from what Connor had overheard, he was now very glad he had Ransom and Holster his freshman year. Not that he wasn’t excited to wield his year of seniority over the frosh, it was just… brutal.

“How’s Chad L doing?” He asked, looping his arm more tightly around Matt’s waist and pulling him closer. Better to ask a question and then listen to Matt talk for a while rather than zone out and get lost in a bunch of messy thoughts about his piss-poor relationship with the rest of his hockey team. “You should’ve gotten captaincy, obviously. But maybe he won’t actually go full-out dictator.”

“Emphasis on dick.” Matt huffed, straightening out his back and pulling his head out of Connor’s shoulder. “Whatever. I mean, I’m not mad about it. He’s kind of a shithead but he’s a good player. I don’t envy our freshman, though.”

“You too? Bittle is… reaching new levels.” Connor shook his head, unconsciously clenching his teeth a little. He didn’t _hate_ Bittle. He really didn’t. Resentment wasn’t even the right word. Connor wanted to like him; he certainly liked his baked goods, as long as they didn’t come with a lecture or several condescendingly worried glances.  

“Really? Never would’ve expected that.” Matt, like a dog sensing a tsunami, really only needed to hear the lack of a response to know it’s time to stop dancing. Connor pouts just a little when Matt is no longer plastered against his front, but doesn’t even consider objecting when he’s steered toward the bed and sat on the edge.

“What are you thinking?”  
  
“That I should stop being so easy to read.” When that didn’t get the laugh he was hoping for, Connor turned his head to stare at the wall. “I don’t know. It’s just… like he -- Bittle -- expects me to spill everything to him. Like just because he’s my captain, he gets to know all my personal shit. Like, what right does he have? It’s my business. Not anyone else’s. I haven’t even told anyone else on the team.”  
  
“Do you think you’re ever going to?” A quick glance at Matt, his face betraying nothing but a willingness to listen. He isn’t hurt. He never is. He’s so above all of the petty, foul thoughts Connor has about himself and their relationship.

“I’m not ashamed of you.” Connor spat it out like an accusation, clenching his hands into fists shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt. It hurt, thinking about eventualities. Wondering what was so wrong with him that he couldn’t open his mouth and just tell them. They were all fine with Jack and Bittle, and they’d be fine with him. So what was his problem?

“Never said you were.” Matt countered, leaning down to tilt Connor’s face back towards him, thumb caressing the curve of Connor’s cheek. “Listen. You’re not a public person anyways. Whatever. That’s fine. But I think spending an entire summer with people who tell you three times a day that it’s evil and despicable to be gay has taken its toll on your noggin.” Connor didn’t know when he started crying, but Matt started to look blurry somewhere around “entire summer” and soon there were hot, embarrassed tears spilling out of his eyes.

“Fuck. I’m--”  
“Nah nah nah, no ‘sorry’ right now. You don’t have to be cool and mysterious and aloof all the time.” Matt cooed, and Connor was encircled in the safest arms he’d ever known. “Just fucking cool it and _cry_ , man.”

One wet laugh, and then the back of Connor’s throat was buffeted by increasingly hitching sobs. There was no chance in hell he’d let anyone else in the world hear him crying, so he buried his face in Matt’s neck and curled in on himself. He let his legs get hitched over Matt’s Armani shorts, and drained his stupid fucking body of every shitty, horrible feeling until he was numb and dehydrated.

There was a significant wet patch on Matt’s shoulder, but they both chose to ignore it for a few moments. It was impeccably still, aside from the rise and fall of their chests, and the careful sifting of Matt’s hand through Connor’s hair.

“I love you.” Connor said, voice still thick from all the snot in his nose, forcing himself to uncurl his fingers from the front of Matt’s shirt, “I wanted to say it while I’m empty. I’d pussy out otherwise.” Matt snorted, planting a kiss on the top of his head with so much tenderness Connor almost felt like crying again.

“I love you, too. But I think I need to go change my shirt.”

\-----

“It’s too fucking cold. I’m going to die of hypothermia.”  
  
“It’s sixty-four degrees.”  
  
“Which is basically freezing.” Gracie retorted, hands wrapped firmly around her PSL from Annie’s. She had been complaining about the weather since her train came in, and Connor was thoroughly amused by it all.  
  
“I don’t know how you’re going todo in Vermont this winter if you can’t take the weather already.” He said, glancing over at her while she stared daggers. “You should embrace this. Think of it as cold-weather conditioning.”  
  
“Condition my ass. First team workout isn’t for another two weeks. And if I were running at least I’d be fucking warm.” Gracie looked especially proud of herself when Connor chuckled. “Wow, look at me. I got the ice man to laugh.”  
  
“Shut up. I’m beginning to regret letting you visit.” He said, shoving her a little with his shoulder as they walked. It was nice, in all actuality. Having someone from home who wasn’t a complete meathead or his immediate family. Gracie Valdez, the best beard in the southwest. “Stop scoping. You don’t have time to hook up with any of Samwell’s fifteen thousand lesbians.”  

“I’m just window shopping. I swear to god it’s like they just cherry picked all the pretty people and just threw them into this school.” She sighed, grabbing his arm and looping her own around it. “Speaking of, how come you haven’t introduced me to any of your other hockey grunts?” She asked, and right on cue, Connor heard the distinct noise of hard European EDM warbling from a Beats Pill.  
“Hey, Whiskey! Who’s the special lady?” Louis’s huge smile was visible from fifty feet away, as is the rest of the slightly embarrassed party. Tango, Chowder, and Hops are in tow, with Bully bringing up the rear. An unexpectedly large group of teammates considering it was a Tuesday when Conner had presumed they’d all be in class. He was about to open his mouth and explain that no, the girl protectively holding his arm was not his girlfriend, but Gracie beat him to the punch.

“Gracie Valdez. Connor and I used to date in high school.” She beamed, arm still linked tightly to Connor’s. “I’m a freshman at U of Vermont. Haven’t seen my guy in a minute, so I decided to come visit. You must be his teammates, I’ve heard so much about you guys!”

Connor let himself coast while Gracie chatted up his teammates, thanking whatever being controlled the universe for letting him exist at the same time as this girl. Eventually someone realized they did actually have to go to class, so the little group was broken up, but not without Chowder giving the same recommendation every SMH visitor got.  
“Hey, make sure you stop by the Haus later! I think Bitty is making more Poptart pie. His food is sooo good, Gracie. You have to go get some pie. Some of anything, really.” Everyone else nodded sagely, especially the waffles.

“One time he made brownies so good I thought they had to be edibles. Turns out it was just butter. A _lot_ of butter.” Added Tango.

Connor was slightly conflicted. He really, really didn’t want to go to the Haus. Introducing Bittle to Gracie would be a disaster, too. They’d get on like a house on fire, and Connor would get to sit and play tic-tac-toe in his head until he had an excuse to leave. That, and he could only take so much measured politeness before he started to feel ill. He was about to give Gracie a pleading look, but she already had it covered.

“Ugh, so I’ve heard. Gluten allergy. I can barely even touch something with flour without getting a little itchy. But it’s been so nice meeting you guys!” She said, waving goodbye as the two clusters parted ways. As soon as his teammates were out of sight, Gracie elbowed Connor sharply in the side.

“Ow, Jesus. What was that for?” He asked rubbing the sore spot on his ribs with one hand, but he was still smiling a little.

“For making me sacrifice baked goods.” She said, but she looked up at her idiot best friend and he knew she’d forgive him and his stupid apprehensions if he said the magic words.

“Thank you.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And I’ll get Matt to smoke you out later.”  
  
“You’re _welcome_.”

\-----

“Hey, are you sure about this?” Matt asked, pulling a blue lacrosse tee shirt over his head. Connor was still in bed, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone when the sudden seriousness of Matt’s tone hit him.  
  
“I mean. Don’t expect me to be all over you, but it’s just a party. We’ve been to plenty of parties together.” Conner said, tossing his phone onto the bedside table and pulling his tee-shirt back on. “Besides, the hockey team is ‘absolutely, incomprehensibly banned from this party’. So no worries there.”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s still a public house party. We’re a little outside our bubble, babe. Chads R and B aren’t going to be on door duty guarding us.” Matt said, checking his hair in a mirror for just a second before he went to join Connor on the bed. “Plus, how the fuck am I gonna keep my hands off you?”  
  
Connor blushed, and didn’t have a chance to hide his smile before it was pressed up against Matt’s. Frankly, he was content to scratch the whole party idea and go for round two, but Matt pulled back and pecked him on the cheek before Connor could make a valid argument. He huffed, cupping his hand on the back of Matt’s neck, stroking the short ginger hair at the back of his neck and taking a moment to really admire what a beautiful man he got to be with.  
  
“Christ, you’re feeling sappy. Can’t wait till you’re soshed and start grinding on me.” Matt teased, escaping before Connor could do more than pinch his retreating hip.

“Dick.”  
  
“You are what you eat, brah.” Matt cackled, and Connor threw a pillow at him, even though he was laughing, too. He pushed himself out of bed and took a handful of Matt’s t-shirt in his fist, yanking him into a messy and eagerly returned kiss.

“Lets just go, before I change my mind and get you to just stay here and make out with me.” Connor said with a huff, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and starting for the door.

“Wait, take a hoodie. You and your thin Arizona blood are gonna freeze otherwise.” Matt said, catching his elbow and tossing him a red hoodie from the back of the desk chair. Conner pulled it over his head, leaving the hood pulled over half of his face and extending his arms in question. Matt smirked, pushing back the hood and ruffling the dark hair underneath before patting his boyfriend soundly on the ass to usher him out the door.  
  
“Alright, champ. Showtime.”

**Author's Note:**

> A huge, overwhelming special thanks to @kirani on ao3, or willdexpoindexter on tumblr. They have been of immeasurable help in cleaning up and bettering this piece. Please go give them some love. 
> 
> if you enjoyed this content, or if you didnt, feel free to send your thoughts to itty-bittle on tumblr. or leave them here in the comments. i'm not your dad.


End file.
